


A Good Man

by krod8208



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krod8208/pseuds/krod8208
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper finds herself alone all too often, which gives her too much time to think.   She's lonely, and the one man she wants is clearly interested in something else.  And then Jim walks into her life...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone In the Morgue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking this a chapter at a time. I'm intrigued by what might have happened between Molly and Moriarty during their brief courtship, and decided to explore it.

  Saint Bart’s was not where she thought she’d end up.  Not that there was anything wrong with it, it just…wasn’t what she had expected.  Weak lights, long hours, lonely shifts, nothing all that interesting, as far as deaths go.  Occasionally, she would get really lucky and a tourist would come home with some tropical disease to liven things up.   Mostly it was the usual old age, motor vehicle accidents, the occasional suicide.  There was Sherlock, of course, and he made things interesting, if not terribly exciting, and sometimes a little confusing.  She would help as best she could, but she never got much of an explanation from him, so mostly she stood back and let the man work.  He seemed to regard her as an assistant, ignoring her schooling and intelligence.  But he seemed to spend less and less time at work lately, and even when he was there, it was like he looked through her unless he needed something.  He flustered her as well.  Something about him she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It was probably the way he could tell you your whole life story without so much as having an entire conversation.  He must know how she felt, but he was completely absorbed in work, and had made no mention of it, let alone given any sign that he was even remotely interested, so perhaps it was best he stayed away until she could sort THAT out.

    She’d always imagined herself doing important research, working in a high-tech lab with a tightly knit group of coworkers.  And this is what she was daydreaming about the day her computer screeched at her and quit working.  She couldn’t even tell IT was had happened or what might have caused it to crash.  She simply hadn’t been paying any attention.  They promised somebody would be down “just as quick as possible”, but she knew what that meant, and brought herself back to reality with the stack of charts on her cold Formica desk.  Coronary artery disease, liver failure, a man found floating in the Thames was about the only thing of interest, but it was starting to look more and more like he was drunk and fell in.  Nothing pointing to foul play, but she might as well have another look at it while she waited for the toxicology to turn up what she expected to be high levels of alcohol and/or recreational drugs.

  She got up to look busy in case somebody from IT actually got over their silly feelings about the morgue and finally heard somebody come in just as she was taking another swab from the cheek of the “river man”.  “I don’t know what happened, if you’re wondering.  It was just sitting there and it made an awful noise…hello?”

  “I’m here.  I’ll just take a look, no need to stop what you’re doing on my account.”  This sounded reasonable enough and she went back to pretending to be busy.  As she was covering the body and making some inconsequential notes in the file she felt eyes on her back.  The hair on her neck stood up, and she spun on her heel to come face to face with the tech from upstairs.  “This is the morgue, huh?  Spooky.  All fixed up!”

  The man hardly stayed still long enough to make an impression.  Wiping his hands on the back of his trousers, he flashed a smile and was gone.  And that was the end of her human interaction for the day.  Well, her interaction with a LIVING human for the day.  She walked back to computer, it's screen now a bright, glowing eye, coldly looking back at her.  "Well.  Hello.  Welcome back, then.  No more trying to ditch me.  It's just you and me down here, and I don't know what I would do without your lovely face to see me through my shift."  Molly looked over her shoulder, and logged on to her blog.  Nothing too exciting to write about today, but she had promised herself she would keep a diary of sorts this year, and she was aready 27 days late starting.

                      _Hi.  My name is Molly Hooper.  I work at Barts Hospital...._


	2. Little Mouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention that the italic text it taken from Molly's blog, an actual website you can visit. http://www.mollyhooper.co.uk/ There isn't much to it, but it's cute, and there are links to other Sherlock based websites, like John's blog, and Sherlock's.

                                _I'm a sensible girl, I always have been. I've worked hard to get the job I have and I've got plans but he just rides all over                  everything. It's like I'm Molly Hooper, in control. 'Little Miss Perfect' as my mates call me. Until he walks into the room and then suddenly I'm this    little mouse. He turns me into a mouse.  
_

 Sherlock had been in earlier.  He peered through the microscope for an hour or more, changing slides and occasionally steepling his fingers under his chin, demanding silence, even when there was no noise.  Molly had been on a tear, getting the really simple cases off her plate so they wouldn't bother her anymore, and really digging into her River Man case.  She wouldnt let Sherlock have it.  It wasn't supposed to be as complex as it had turned out to be, and she wanted to ask advice, but she knew he would take it as an open invitation to blast her theory (such as it was...) and close the file before the day was done.  She wanted to satisfaction of finishing this one herself.

  That was why it was so frustrating that he could tell she had hit a roadblock, and he knew which case she was working on.  He probably knew what she'd eaten for breakfast and which side of the bed she'd woken up on.  But he surprised her and kept his perfect mouth closed on the matter.  The glare of the fluorescent light off the gloss finish of the photographs she'd been over and over was starting to annoy her.  She knew the answer was there.  It was staring her in the face.  She'd probably looked at it three times and never actually  _seen_ it.  She sighed loudly,  and her chair screeching on the linoleum, shoved away from the desk.  "I've asked you over and over.  I need  _silence._ If you insist on torturing yourself with that file, please do it elsewhere. Otherwise, give me the chart, ask the question you've been mulling over for the last hour and a half, and save us both this annoyance so I can get back to work and you can go home and finish hemming your skirts half an inch higher in the hopes it might make your legs appear longer."  

  Molly tried to hold her chin up high, but Sherlock was right.  She was getting nowhere.  Even worse was that he was right about the skirts.   _That_ was infuriating, and embarassing.  She crossed her arms in front of her chest while he flipped through her notes and photos. Then, feeling a bit defiant, she put her arms straight to her sides and sidled closer to point out the work she'd done so far.  "I got the reports back, and they confirmed what seemed obvious.  The only problem I'm coming across is-"

  "Yes, yes, all that.  Here.  Look closer.  Puncture. Tiny, hardly noticeable unless you knew you were looking for it.  That's how it got there, that's your answer.  Now, if you don't mind, I am trying to concentrate.  Please see that you don't slam your desk drawer closed when you put your things away, and don't  _jangle_ your keys as you dig through your bag."  And just like that, Molly had given up her case, and beewn reduced to the sum of the noises she made.  She couldnt wait to get home to catch up on Connie Prince.  She fell asleep that night with the new hem ripped out of her skirt and her cat, Toby, playing with the thread.

 

 


	3. I Didn't Know Anyone Read My Blog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly, meet Jim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blog no longer appears in italics as I have switched to updating from my phone and it's much less user friendly than my laptop. Apologies.

"Hi, sorry, are you the lady who works in the morgue? The one with the nose?

Jim 26 March 00:14"

"Who are you?

Molly Hooper 26 March 00:15:"

"Sorry! I work in the IT dept. Stupid night shift.

Jim 26 March 00:17"

 

       Molly's nerves were all on edge, and it was delightful. She could feel everything from the breeze her walking created lifting her hair from the roots to the slight rub of the soles of her shoes as they contacted the dull neutral flooring. She hadn't realized that anyone actually read her blog, and here was a man who not only read what she had to say, but actually wanted to talk face to face. For so long, the only man she had thought about had been completely disinterested, but she was beginning to think it wasn't just her that he was so disconnected from. She had actually just been talking herself into setting her sights back on the world around her and suddenly, there were COMMENTS on her blog.

       Jim. His name was Jim. He must be the man who'd been in to look at her computer. She didn't think anybody else from IT had any reason to know who she was, so it had to be him. She tried to remember what he looked like as she rounded the corner that would bring her to the canteen. She stopped in the doorway, and there he was. Heaven in a fitted tee. Hair slightly mussed, but just enough to make her suspect it was that way on purpose, and two cups of coffee steaming on the table in front of him. "Jim?" She kicked herself. There were two other people in the room besides herself and one of them was yawning behind a counter. Who else would this be?

       "Molly. I- I wasn't sure how you take it or I would have had it all fixed up for you." Jim stood and pulled out a chair, inviting her to sit. He didn't offer her the chair across from where he'd been seated, but rather the one right next to it.

       "That's okay, thank you. So. Night shift? How busy could you possibly be?"

       "Not very. But somebody needs to be here. You know, just in case. It's all very dull. This is my third cup of coffee."

       "Only my second. I'm just trying to finish up a stack of papers or I would have been home ages ago." Molly lifted her cup to her lips and looked at Jim through the steam.

       "Lucky me. You're still here. And lucky me, this seems to be more freshly brewed than the last two cups I had. Or maybe it's just the company making it a little less bitter. Definitely my favorite cup tonight." But Jim hadn't had more than a sip. He hadn't done much more than look at Molly.

       "So, you, uh...you bring all the girls to the canteen in the middle of the night? Or just the one's with cute noses?" Molly was feeling confident.

       "I don't know why I asked you if you were 'the one with the nose'. It came off a little weird, didn't it?"

       "You redeemed yourself." Good grief, those eyes were peering straight inside of her. The small talk went on for some time, but if somebody had asked her what they chatted about, Molly wouldn't have recalled anything specific. She would have been able to recall the way Jim's collar seemed slightly stretched on one side, as though he was in the habit of pulling it ever so slightly, or the way the watch he wore seemed to accent the curve of his forearm. But she definitely remembered promising to meet for coffee again, outside of work, and the way her heart jumped just a bit inside her chest when she caught Jim turning around to steal another look at her before disappearing down the hallway, under a flickering fluorescent light.


	4. I Know You're Reading This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is awkward.

Five days had brought two more meetings for coffee, an unexpectedly romantic date at the library, and a tour of the morgue. Initially, Molly had been a little hesitant about the tour, but Jim seemed so genuinely interested in her work, she had given in. "I want to understand you, Molly. I want to know what makes you tick. I promise not to touch anything." She had chuckled and swung open the door, sucking in her lower lip ever so slightly. It had been along time since a man had shown this much interest in her, and she was a little out of practice with dating.

       She ran her hand over the cold steel surface of a table, almost lovingly. "I know most people think of autopsies and cringe, but to me, they're fascinating. I get to see things and learn things about a person that even they themselves may not have known. The last one I did was a woman in her mid-forties who dropped dead in her kitchen for no apparent reason. She had no idea there was any danger, but she had a seriously clogged artery."

       "And that's not just sad?" Jim ran his finger over Molly's knuckles when her hand came to rest near his, sending a thrill through her.

       "Oh, very sad. But I was able to solve a mystery of sorts, and give her family an answer. I'm no Sherlock, and I'm not solving the high profile cases, but sometimes I manage to help the police out a bit, and that's exciting too." She was a bit disappointed when Jim latched onto her mention of Sherlock, and not onto her mention of Scotland Yard.

       "Sherlock? I've seen him around. Tall fellow, sort of blows in and out of the hospital like the wind. A little oblivious to the people around him?"

       "That's him. Very oblivious." She jumped a little bit when a technician suddenly rattled through the room with a tray of surgical instruments on their way to be sterilized, but it snapped her focus back to Jim just when her mind had threatened to stray to thoughts of the strange detective.

       "He has a reputation for being fairly brilliant," Jim seemed a little distracted himself just now. "Is that true?"

       "Yeah. He's got DI Lestrade completely reliant on him. Genius, that one. But come on, let's get out of here. If you want to know what makes me tick I supposed you'd better spend an evening at home with me and Toby."

       "Toby? Should I feel jealous?"

       Molly laughed, glad to have successfully changed the subject. "Only if you think small, four-legged, and feline is threatening. Come on then. 'Glee" and take-away, on me."

       "I can't believe you don't know how to spell-check. They gave you your doctorate?" Molly playfully shoved Jim while he sat in front of her computer, teaching her a few tricks to make her blogging easier.

       "I can't believe you read random blogs in your free time."

       "Only when I'm bored. And it served me well enough. I'm here with you, aren't I?" Molly pulled the sleeves of her jumper over her hands.

       "Only when you're bored?" Jim stood up and put his hands inside the sleeves of the jumper Molly couldn't seem to stop fiddling with, and ran them up her forearms. Molly shivered, and leaned forward, grasping Jim by the elbows.

       "Well, I read yours every day," he said, planting a kiss on the end of her nose, "Or at least, I look at it every day. You're bad about posting things. You'll go days..."

       "I don't always have that much to say." Toby was weaving himself in and out of their feet, begging for attention. She reluctantly pulled herself away from Jim to pull a half finished can of food out of the refrigerator and empty it into the glass bowl on the floor.

       "I don't think that's true. I think you can hardly keep that brilliant mind of yours silent, you just don't know how to put your thoughts out there." He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, watching her.

       "Maybe I'll do better now that I know somebody is paying attention." Molly took several slow steps towards the nearly irresistible man she had somehow managed to coax back to her flat, trying her best to look seductive.

       "I hope so," he brushed his lips against her forehead and whispered into her hair. "I've got to go." Molly deflated. Was she that awkward?

       "Was it the morgue?" She hoped she sounded upbeat and jokey.

       "Molly, it was fantastic. You're fantastic. Lunch tomorrow is on me."

 

"I'm not writing anything because I know you're reading this!

Do you mean me?

Jim 30 March 13:42

Yes! You! Thanks for lunch!

Molly Hooper 30 March 13:45

Thank YOU for last night! Xxx

Jim 30 March 13:47

Did you like it then? Was it all right?

Molly Hooper 30 March 13:48

Yeah! I can't believe I've never seen Glee before! LOVED IT!

Jim 30 March 13:49

Me too! And Toby LOVED you!

Molly Hooper 30 March 13:50

He's lovely. And so are you.

Jim 30 March 13:52

You're lovlier. Lovelyer. Lovelier? Is that how you spell it?

Molly Hooper 30 March 13:55

Don't you have spellcheck switched on?

Jim 30 March 13:56

How do I do that?

Molly Hooper 30 March 13:58

Didn't I show you yesterday?

Jim 30 March 13:59

I've forgotten. Again.

Molly Hooper 30 March 14:00

Thanks for that. You're a good teacher

Molly Hooper 30 March 14:46

Xxxxxx

Jim 30 March 14:50

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Molly Hooper 30 March 14:47

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jim 30 March 15:01"


	5. What Do You Mean, Gay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Sherlock. This is why we can't have nice things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is word for word cannon from the show...up until Molly runs away.

A high-pitched, trilling alert went off just as Molly pushed open the door to the lab. "Any luck?" She said it with a smile, she couldn't help herself. For once, entering this room while Sherlock was working wasn't causing her to stutter, or her heart to flutter out of her chest.

       "Ohhh, yes." Sherlock must have come across something useful, or important if the amount of time he had been behind that microscope and the alert were any indication, but he seemed as distant and cold as ever. She had just walked fully into the room before they door squealed on its hinges again. Not even Sherlock was going to destroy her mood. Her smile spread even wider as she watched Jim walk into the room.

       "Jim, hi! Come in, come in!" Here was her chance. She was finally going to introduce them. She would show Sherlock that she was getting past him, and Jim would see just how proud she was to be with him. She noticed Sherlock's eyes flit back and forth between her and Jim, and god only knows what he read in that fraction of a second, but what she noticed was Jim, in the same tee he had been wearing the night they first met for coffee, and the way his dark eyes sparkled.

       "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes."

       "Ah!" Jim came round to stand by her side, and she, was embarrassed to find she couldn't quite recall the name of Sherlock's blonde military friend…blast, she had been feeling so smooth…

       "And uh…" Oh, she'd seen the man a few times now, heard his name mentioned…He seemed to be the reason Sherlock was glued to that stool less often and she suddenly draws a blank? "Sorry."

       "John Watson. Hey." The man focused his attention back on Sherlock, who seemed to be completely disinterested in the whole situation. Molly knew better. She knew that he was always observing.

       "Hi," Jim turned his attention back to Sherlock, rubbing his hands together like a kid about to get his hands on a new toy. That was…interesting. "So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?"

       "Jim works in IT upstairs. That's how we met! Office romance." Molly patted herself on the back for mentioning this. Let him hear it. Let him know that while he ignored her, somebody else in the very same building had taken notice. Sherlock took his eyes off his slide and looked at Jim for just a moment.

       "Gay." He went back to his work like he hadn't just burst the small bubble of happiness Molly has been slowing allowing to grow around her.

       "Sorry, what?" She couldn't keep her scowl out of her voice.

       "Nothing. Umm, hey." What a weak attempt at a cover!

       "Hey." Jim put his hand on the counter and knocked a dish to the floor with a clatter. Molly cringed. How was this suddenly going so wrong? How could he do this to her? How could he unwind every shred of optimism she'd managed to knit for herself? "Sorry!" Even John Watson put his hand to his forehead in embarrassment.

       "Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox. Bout sixish?" Jim ran his hand down her back, and it caused none of the usual goosebumps. She shook her head and managed a quiet affirmative. "Bye, it was nice to meet you!" Silence from Sherlock.

       "You too." John replied when it became apparent Sherlock wouldn't. Molly waited for the door to swing closed behind Jim. This was not going to be pretty.

       "What'd you mean, gay? We're together!" She smiled, but it was because of uncertainty.

       "And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you." Sherlock turned his gaze away from her, and she could feel the tears burning just behind her eyes.

       "Two and a half." Her smile was gone.

       Sherlock tilted his head in his cocky way. "Mm, three." John quietly protested, but went unheard as Molly fought not to yell.

       "He's not gay…why do you have to spoil?!...he's not." She pulled her arms close, protecting herself, like she could physically block his word.

       "With that level of personal grooming" He huffed in annoyance.

       "Because he puts a bit of product in his hair?" John asked, incredulous. "I put product in my hair!"

       "You wash your hair, there's a difference. No, no. Tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired clubbers eyes; then there's his underwear." Molly could hardly believe that last bit.

       "His underwear?" Her face screwed up in question. His underwear? Sherlock nodded his head slightly.

       "Visible above the waistline. VERY visible, very particular brand. That, plus the EXTREMELY suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here-" he pulled out the card that was plainly Jims, "Id say you'd better break it of now and save yourself the pain."

       No words. She had no words, and no chance of making a graceful exit. The lump in her throat and the knot in her stomach meant she could only turn and run. Her footsteps were loud as she ran down the corridor, and she almost ran over an older gentleman with an arm full of charts, but she didn't stop until she was outside. She skidded to a halt and leaned against the cold exterior of St. Bart's, ignoring the looks and the stares as she cried into her hands. How could he?

       There was only one way she was going to get past this. She dug her phone out of her pocket and dialed Jim. She needed to meet him early. To hell with work, she would get somebody to cover her for the last little bit, and she would be able to catch up easily enough tomorrow. She was already walking back inside to hang up her lab coat and grab her things when he answered.

       "Hi! Missed me already?" At least he sounded cheerful. She tried to get her voice under control.

       "Just a little. Can we meet early? I need to see you." She grabbed her keys and dropped them into her bag, slamming her drawer closed with her hip, and strolled determinedly out of the office. She was going to get this all back in hand.


	6. Deduced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, bollocks.

She sat on the bench, fingers tangled together with his, and the sun in her eyes. For once, she was glad of the glare. It would make her teary eyes easier to explain away. "Molly, you've got to tell me what's going on. You wouldn't skip out on work and call me insisting on meeting early just to squeeze all the blood from my fingers." Jim's smile, as always, made her heart beat a little faster, but this time it was nerves. What if Sherlock was wrong, and she hurt this man, and destroyed her hope of any kind of a future with him? But what if Sherlock was right, and none of this was real? What if she was just being used? She had spent the last five minutes building up her nerve, and she couldn't sit here in silence any longer.

       "I've told you about how Sherlock can…sort people out, see their story in their faces, or their jacket, or the crumbs on their collar after tea?"

       "Yeah. Yeah, brilliant. Scary, but brilliant." She watched his face for any hint he might see where this was going.

       "He's not wrong very often. Or…well, I've never seen him get it wrong except for on the tiny details that don't really change the big picture," she had her chin tucked down against her chest. "Right after you left, he told me all about you."

       "And? Molly, I've been telling you all about me. What did he do, tell you about uni? Tell you my mother was ill when I was a boy and never really showed me any affection? We're still getting to know each other. We're getting to all that!" He put his finger under her chin and pulled her face back up to the light. She closed her eyes against the sun, and against his dark eyes.

       "He told me that you're gay." A tear escaped and made its way slowly down her face. Jims finger fell from her chin to his lap.

       "He told you what?"

       "He told me that you spend too much time on grooming to be straight, that you put too much effort into your appearance, and that your underwear gave you away, and that-"

       "My underwear! Molly, are you sure he's not gay?"

       "I'm not sure he's anything." Oh, wouldn't that make everything so much less painful and frustrating? An asexual Sherlock, who did not deny her over and over again, but who didn't even realize she had feelings for him? A Sherlock who misread the signs because he had no experience with sexuality and was way off on his assessment of Jim? That would be perfect.

       "Molly, I'm with you. I'm not gay." Jim was sitting a little more upright, a little more stiffly.

       "Jim, you left him your number. And gay or not, you do not leave your number for somebody when you're with somebody else." Until now, one of her hands had still been gripping one of his, but now she pulled away and settled a fist in her lap, praying he would lean and grab it, coax her fingers to relax, run his thumb across her palm, the way he had the first time he'd reached for her.

       "I must have put it on the counter when I picked up the mess I made and not realized I left it there." Even to her ears, that so badly wanted an explanation, this sounded weak.

       "Why would you have a card with your number written on it in your hand anyway? I have your number, Jim."

       "Molly, I carry my number with me all the time. People need help with their computers constantly, it's a great way of making a little extra money."

       "Why was it in your hand? Sherlock didn't ask for your help. He was staring into a microscope nearly the whole time."

       "Yeah, well, apparently he still had time to check me out, didn't he?" There was a storm brewing in Jims eyes. It was intimidating, and Molly had never thought in a million years she could ever be intimidated by him.

       "That's what he does! He, he…deduces. His mind spins like that, constantly, around and around, picking up details in a glance, forming conclusions, piecing together facts and stories. There is a machine under that mop of curls, and I doubt very much he was checking you out. Sherlock doesn't check people out."

       "Oh, I see. His brilliant mind, his 'mop of curls', he wasn't checking me out. Molly, you're in love with Sherlock. Just say it." Jim stood, looming over her like a wave about to crash over the shore.

       "Jim, no! I thought I was once, but then I met you, and you showed me what it's like to matter. To be noticed and appreciated and cared for! And I want to be with you! But he's right about so much, so often! And you've never even kissed my lips! You've never tried to touch me!" She stood too, feeling helpless and desperate, but still so angry. She didn't care that people were starting to stare, she cared that she got answers.

       "Is that what you want? Is that how I prove to you I'm not gay? Or is that how you prove to yourself that you don't love him?" Molly started to answer, but her voice stuck in her throat. She's not sure what she would have said anyway, and it didn't matter. Jim closed the very short distance between them in a single step, grabbed her by the waist and pressed his lips against hers. The world stopped, the people around her disappeared, the sun on her skin the only thing from the world around her that still existed. Then just as suddenly as it began, it ended, and his lips were against her ear. "I had such big plans for us. You and I could have ruled the world, you know. Goodbye, Molly Hooper."

       Molly stood in shock as the planet started turning again and the ground beneath her feet lurched back into motion along with it. She dropped back onto the bench, and as she watched Jim walk away, she cried. What had she done?

 

"Jim, are you reading this? I'm sorry we argued and I don't mind if you're gay or not but where are you? Please, I miss you and I'm worried about you! Why aren't you answering your phone? And why aren't you at work? Your manager's going mental! Please! Just get in touch! Let me know you're okay!"


	7. A Great Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fin

I won't be keeping this diary anymore. It was all a lie….

 

       Molly pushed her chair away from the desk and stared for a moment or two at the ceiling tiles. Everything had all gone so horribly wrong, and she wasn't sure how she felt, except that she missed Jim, still. Maybe she should still be angry. Maybe a normal person would shake their fists and scream. All she felt now was the kind of emptiness that comes when all the tears have dried up. It bordered on apathy, but Molly Hooper was never apathetic. If anything, she felt too much. So this was a new experience for her, this hollow in her chest where her feelings should have been.

       She had done a little digging when she had decided to pull herself up off the sofa, and what she found was…nothing. Trying to find Jim was like trying to hold the wind in your hands. There were signs of him everywhere, but in the end, she came up with nothing. His boss seemed to accept that he would no longer be coming in to work, and asked Molly if she knew how to get in touch with him. For some reason, the computer couldn't come up with any record of him, but they owed him his last check, and needed to know where to send it.

       The ladies in the canteen wondered why they never saw him together with her anymore, and could swear that he had just been in on his own, but come to think of it, wasn't it at kind of an odd time for his shift? Maybe he'd just dropped in on his own time? The pillow he had clutched to himself while watching her favorite shows with her still smelled of him, and the scuffmark was still on her baseboard where he had kicked off his shoes upon entering her flat. Evidence of him everywhere, all of it telling her he had been very real, but still he had vanished like he never existed. She couldn't reach him by phone, she couldn't get through to him with the internet, and she suspected she would find no sign of him at any of "their spots".

       First Molly had spent a good deal of time beating herself up. And when she had finished with that, she spent a little bit of time being angry and sad. And then the void filled her up and she felt nothing. Clearly she had never meant that much to him if he could just disappear this way, so why should she feel anything at all for him? Life fell back into its familiar cadence, her friends rarely mentioned him, though they really needn't have feared for her feelings, and work became her world again. Sometimes she would hear a voice on the television or catch a face out of the corner of her eye that would remind her of him, but that was less and less frequent as the days and weeks marched on. Slowly, she let go of Jim completely and hardly ever thought about him at all.

       When her thoughts did turn that way, it was more as a sort of melancholy reflection. Jim was a good man. Those were hard to find. He was funny, and attractive, and they had a good time together. For a long time Molly had thought that finding somebody like him would have been the icing on the cake. Her life was supposed to be complete when she found somebody like that. So why didn't she feel like she'd lost more? She stared at her bedroom ceiling for an hour before her alarm went off one day, thinking the same thoughts over and over until finally the shrill sound demanded her attention. She threw her pillow at it and got into the shower.

       Who needed a man anyway? She was fine on her own. She had a great job, her own place and roommate that never left wet towels on the floor or ate her food (sure, she found the occasional hairball…), her friends had been there for her through everything, and she had the freedom to do what she liked, when she liked. The air was brisk as she made her way to work, still mulling things over. Maybe a relationship would just complicate things. Even a man as simple and low-key as Jim might have just mucked it all up.

       She was smiling slightly to herself as she finished an autopsy on a rather young gentleman, having come to the conclusion that she was fine on her own. A good man? Ha! Was there such a thing, anyway? She straightened up and brushed a bit of hair from the body's forehead. Maybe he had been a good man, she mused as a technician rolled the corpse back to refrigeration. Molly sighed and threw her gloves in the biohazard bin. She knew she was kidding herself. There were good men in the world, she knew a few of them. Her father, Greg Lestrade, and John Watson, just to start. Dependable, trustworthy, predictable. But she knew she wasn't looking for a good man. She needed somebody great. Somebody with a mind she could lose endless hours exploring, somebody with talents she could admire and learn from, somebody who didn't live their life in a rut, like a skipping record. It didn't matter how much you like the song, you don't really want to hear the same verse over and over again. She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose against the sudden sting of some rather pungent chemicals as she entered the lab. A familiar baritone surprised her from just next to the door. "Molly, I think you and I could be of mutual advantage to each other." Damn that Sherlock Holmes. He had no idea.


End file.
